Wonderful One-Time Tales
by Just A Wish Upon A Star
Summary: Lots of one-shots containing all the random ideas I get, deleted chapters and drafts from my other stories, love, hatred, and many other emotions. These are all of the figments of my imagination that didn 't quite develop into a proper story.
1. Dream

**CHAPTER ONE : Dreams**

**Inspiration: Well, a dream, I guess! **

**Song: _Dreams Don't Turn To Dust; Owl City_**

* * *

It's cold, it's dark. It's frightening.

Wind rips through the forest at an alarming rate, and I swallow back a gulp of fear. It's pitch black, not even the smallest twinkle of a star visible in the cloudy night sky. Leaves rustle on the murky forest floor and menacing shadows dance around, jeering at me. They seem to loom from all directions, peeking around the towering trees and howling in delight. They're prancing around, they're happy. They've achieved their goal.

And their only goal is on me. I propel myself forward, my claws scrabbling on the uneven ground, my paws kicking up the foliage as I dash quickly past a small fox den. My breath is heavy, my limbs are weak. I'm terrified. These woods are eerie. The shadows pounced at me, claws outstretched ready to snag my dark ginger fur, and teeth ready to snap my furry neck.

I swerve quickly to the right, hauling myself over an out-jutting rock before speeding down along the path once again. Something tears at me fur, and for a gut-wrenching moment I think that the shadow's finally ensnared me. But when I cast a glance down, it's only a branch, and I rip away with a squeak and continue on.

I'm branded as crazy in this absurd world. The Clan I used to live in, ShadowClan (how ironic that my old home's namesake is my tormentor now) thought I was as scared as a timid mouse, and as intelligent as one as well. My name back then had been Dawnpaw. I don't want to know what my warrior name would have been.

They ridiculed me, saw me as... as different. I suppose I am, but it doesn't make it right for them to point it out. The only person who saw who I truly, truly - or at least could have had the potential to be - am like. He was my brother, Blazepaw. He died after a incident with RiverClan. Needless to say, I hate their stupid fish-breathed faces.

I left after that. I didn't really see the point of staying. I didn't fit, my brother had gone and left to StarClan. ShadowClan thought otherwise, they muttered that Blazepaw would have probably gone to the Dark Forest. They believe that's where I'll go too.

I changed my name to Glow, not long after. I had hoped that the welcoming name would help with keeping away the fear, and the shadows. What a foolish desire that had been.

And so now here I was, plunging through the freezing territory, running away from something that most cats would claim didn't exist. They just didn't look hard enough. If you peer close into the depths, the proper souls of the shadows - if that's what they could be called - you could easily be jolted into running away.

My mind snapped back to reality when I stumbled over a particularly large root and my paws fumbled uncertainly. Of course they had chosen this moment to fail me and send me toppling to the ground. My muzzle was planted against the dirt, and I could taste the rotten mud that swirled around in my mud. It tastes foul, and I spit it out quickly, before leaping to my paws.

Whirling around, I pounce forward, but skid to a halt when nothing is there. The shadows had disappeared, whisked away with the gentle breath of the wind. For a few heartbeats I wondered why, and then my short fur tingled with warmth.

The sun had peaked over the horizon, casting a faint line of light across the sky. How had I failed to notice the changes? Perhaps I had merely been too caught up in my thoughts.

I should have kept my senses alert, but of course I am only a stupid little cat, barely eleven moons old. I should be mature enough to keep myself out of trouble, but it seemed this wasn't the case.

My rationality had been swept away with the scent of prey._ A vole_, I picked out the scent, my mouth practically watering with the prospect of going on with a full belly. These woods were scarce of food, those lousy Clan cats had claimed the best bit of the territory, the lands teeming with prey.

So it was a rarity to find such a strong scent in this dense forest. I crouch low, my belly fur brushing against the short, mossy grass. I move along edgily. My movements were ever so careful, my actions carefully thought out. A lot of help that was, for when I finally pounced on my victim, the creature was already dead.

I'd been correct, it was indeed a plump vole, lying dead on the floor. I tucked in immediately. I should've asked myself why there was a random dead animal, with the catcher no where to be seen. I should have investigated more when I scraped aside the dirt that covered the animal.

I shouldn't have been surprised when a figure emerged from the trees, a protective look on his scarred face.

"What are you doing, stealing my prey?"

I didn't think properly, didn't note the fact that his voice did not seem hostile. Merely curious. But my reflexes were already working, my limbs pumping me forward. I let out a wild screech and charged, leaping forward with a pounce to be proud of. I unsheath my claws, quick as a flash, and rake them through his thick russet fur.

The stranger let out a yelp of surprise, leaping backwards and batting at me with massive paws. Undeterred by this, I dart forward to come within range of him once again, stretching downwards and nipping him lightly on the skin on his neck.

The scarred tom lets out another sharp cry, and I couldn't force down the elated swelling of victory. He probably thought I was a blood-thirsty rogue, but at this point I honestly couldn't care. It just felt good to have some sort of point to my day. Something other than wandering aimlessly. And the food was a strong incentive as well.

My triumph was not to be basked in for long though, as within moments he had me pinned to the mossy terrain, a paw pressing me down and a wary expression in his gaze. I let out a slight breath; I had become far too cocky.

"Who are you?" His voice was deep, rather rough and growly. The question was clearly directed to me, but I remained silent, instead focusing my gaze to his narrowed blue eyes.

He repeats the question once again, but then releases his grip and lets out a sigh. I'm rather surprised, but when I peer closer I can tell that his expression is weary, and tired. But strangely not unkind. This is what roots me to the spot, instead of bolting as far away as I can. I tense, coiling up my strength into the strongest points of my paws, knowing that precautions is something a cat cannot have enough of.

"Are you hungry?" He blinks at me, flicking a bushy tail towards the prey. "I was going to have it for myself, but you can eat it."

I blink warily at him, I can scarcely believe it. This.. this stranger was willing to offer his food to a cat like me? What if he poisoned it? But I had already eaten some, hadn't I? My stomach begins to churn uncomfortably, but I know I'm imagining it.

"Go on. I've got my own squirrel sitting around the corner. It's all for you. I'm not going to betray you, I promise."

I remain silent, but I examine the prey closely, my gaze flickering back and forth between him and the food. My stomach growled lightly and urged me towards the vole, but I fight it off with a dubious look to his large figure and massive battering paws.

"Are you mute? I met a house-pet who was mute once. He was nice, though." He's blinking at me innocently now, and I have to wonder what a house-pet is. Maybe he means kitty-pet? My mouth is clamped shut, I refuse to acknowledge his presence.

"You obviously need it, you little scrap."

This is what jolts me into speaking, my fur bristles lightly. "I'm not a little scrap. I'm eleven moons."

The tom grins slightly, blinking at me in a friendly manner. "And I'm fifteen moons. It seems you're not a mute. Such a shame."

I decide to trust him, he seems reasonably okay, although cheeky. I could always sneak away in a moment anyway, this dark ginger cat doesn't seem very aware of his surroundings. Gingerly I reach forward to the unfinished vole, and after a tentative bite I find that I need to keep gulping down more.

True to his words, the tom slips away, returning with a plump woodland squirrel, the type you only find in the heart of the forest.

"Did you steal that?"

He seems rather surprised at my comment, casting a glance down to the prey. "What, this? Of course not. Those silly tribe cats would hunt me down within the day."

"Clan cats," I can't help but correct them. "They're Clan cats."

"What's the difference?" He shrugs, but then narrowed his blue eyes at me, with a look of almost suspicion. "What, are you one of them?"

"No!" I snarl quickly at him, baring my teeth in what I hoped was a fearsome look. It's almost too quickly that I reply, and I can see his eyes narrowing, his mind looking me over suspiciously. "At least, not anymore."

"Anymore?"

I take a deep breath as he questions me, I'm unsure if I really want to reveal my past to him. And yet, I haven't talked to anyone in so long, haven't told anyone about my past. But I clamp my mouth shut anyway. This was a random stranger, I didn't need to go around spilling my life details.

"It's none of your concern."

The silence seemed to be deafening in the forest, birds squawking and chirping annoyingly. "Do you know of someone named Tank?"

I racked my mind for someone with that name, but nothing sprung to mind. "No, never."

He visibly loosens, bending down to his own meal and tucking in quickly. While he chewed he stretched a dark ginger limb, and I examined his scars out of the corner of my eye. Some looked to be old and sewn up, dark and relatively faint. Others were fleshy and new, a bright pink. The newest seemed to be one of his left flank, stretching far down with the unmistakable mark of a cat's claw.

I couldn't help but shudder, but I pretended it was from exhaustion. I was unsure if he bought it, but he spoke casually. "That's good then. I guess you can stay."

"Stay?" I look up to him incredulously. "What made you think I was going to stay with you?"

The tom snorted, glancing at me almost contemptuously. "Look at you. You're thin, scrawny, weak. And you're hiding from the tri- sorry, Clan cats, aren't you? So am I. Let's help each other."

I turned this over in my head. This stranger was stupid. He was just going to let some cat he didn't know tag along with him, feed off his food. Then again, I was stupid if I agreed. But I was ever so hungry. The remains of the taste of vole lingered on my senses, and my mouth watered slightly, my stomach growling. Surely I could always slip away if I needed to?

My mouth acted before I was ready, meowing decisively, "Sure. But don't think I'm a stupid weak she-cat."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he grins at me.

* * *

It's storming hard, and we're huddled together in the shelter of a small den, dug out under the roots of an old sycamore tree.

It's strange, but the rhythmic pattering of rain keeps me calm, and sedated. I love rain, I find it soothing. Cove says it annoys him to no end.

That's his name, that stranger I had met up with that destined day. _Cove_. That had been over two moons ago, and we were more sociable now. We talked about silly things like favourite prey, and fun past times.

It surprised me when he started telling me about his history. What had happened in his life.

"I met the Clan cats once," he started off, his voice sounding distant, as if he was far away. "I was little then. Only six moons old. It was hard, rummaging through the forest to find food. You should know," he fixed his blue gaze on me, and I felt compelled to ask a question.

"You survived all by yourself?"

"No!" Cove said quickly, sounding rather surprised. Almost as if he had forgotten his companion back then. "There was this... this she-cat. She was pretty.. but I didn't really care for her looks. She was feisty, sharp tongued. But... but so sweet, all the same," the larger cat paused, eyes flickering over me with a hidden expression. "Her name was Astrid. She also had a sister, Ayla, who I hated."

"What happened to them?"

"I'm getting to that part," Cove snapped, his tone tinged with irritation. I shrank back, feeling afraid for the first time. "We were wandering around the forest one day. Astrid and I were walking in the back. Ayla was far up ahead. We heard shouts, yowling and fighting. When we arrived, we found Ayla dead, surrounded by a group of tri- Clan cats. Blood seeped from their claws, they bared their teeth at us..."

_"There are more of you mangy flea-pelted rogues?"_

_"Any cat would think you intruders sprouted off trees!"_

_A group of four cats stood defensively in front of us, fur bristling. Their teeth showed, glistening an ugly yellow. But my focus was not on them. At their paws lay the misshapen body of Ayla, curled and bent over in a sickly fashion. I felt my hopes plummet down to my paws. Astrid's sister was clearly dead, and if she was somehow by chance still alive, she was in torture._

_Astrid leapt forward to tend to her sister, but the buff cats warded her off with fearsome fangs and sharp claws._

_"What did you do to her?" Astrid cried as she stared forlornly at her fallen sister from afar. "Ayla.. My poor sister.."_

_"She crossed our borders," one of them snarled in a growly voice. He was tall, scarily so, with spiky black fur and patches of brown. "No cat crosses ShadowClan's borders and get's away with it."_

_"We didn't know," I tried to reason, and to my horror my voice was shaky and scared. "She didn't... We would have just left.." I swallowed back a gulp. "If.. If you'd told us."_

_"Sorry, kit," another responded, although he didn't seem the slightest bit apologetic. His yellow eyes shone brightly from his dark, ringed pelt. "What's done is done. We ain't gonna run to StarClan and get 'er back for you."_

_His companion, the third cat muttered something that I couldn't pick up, and within moments the three were arguing. Astrid had taken the chance to creep forward, and was now licking her sister's wounds clean. I turned my head away, unable to watch. Only one cat was not arguing. He was a dark grey, striped with black._

_He watched, and as we met, I knew he was trying to say sorry. I merely dipped my head. I wasn't about to forgive him at any point, he had helped to murder Ayla. Still... I appreciated it._

_The three cats stopped arguing suddenly, and the female stepped forward to us. To my surprise, her voice was not harsh, only firm. "We are sorry for your loss." The others began to protest, but the she-cat silenced them with a fierce scowl. "Twistfang, Figclaw. We offer our condolences. Now, you must leave. If we come back to find you're still here, I'm afraid I won't be able to hold my warriors back."_

_And then they bounded off, the smaller cat left blinking at me. SORRY, he manages to mouth, before someone notices._

_"Stripepaw! We're going to check the eastern border!"_

_As I stared at Ayla's body in a dumbstruck promise, Astrid pressed her flank against mine, her pretty gold flecked eyes brimming with emotion._

_"I'm sorry, Ast," I murmured. "I'll make it all go away, I'll get rid of them for you. One day."_

"I'm sorry." Cove's tale was so vivid, so pained I could literally imagine it.

Cove only shook his head, sticking his head out slightly into the rain, and retreating with a cold shudder. It was obviously still raining. "You don't need to be sorry. You had nothing to do with it."

I flicked an ear with nervousness, another trait I hated about myself. "I used to be part of ShadowClan. I.. I think I remember a patrol talking about intruders.. And Stripepaw was my brother's best friend."

I expected him to growl at me and cast me out into the swirling storm, but he only swivelled to look at me, as if he'd been expecting it. I swallowed and fell silent. I didn't want to share my past with anyone, not even Cove, who had strangely become quite good company.

"You left?" He inquired, and I nodded, dipping my head.

"Yes. I changed my name to Glow."

"And what was your old name?"

"Dawnpaw," I send him a suspicious look, hoping that he could be trusted. "But if you dare tell anyone.."

Cove smiles in that infuriating way, curling up and closing his eyes as if to sleep. "I wouldn't dream of it."

* * *

We're on the run. Stupid, stupid Cove had thought it funny to sneak into the Clans territory and challenge a group of their warriors to a fight.

Ultimately, he had lost his wits, and we were now being chased out by the patrol.

"To the left!" Cove yells, and I do as told, swinging to my left sharply. The cats were not far behind us, but we were keeping our distance. They had feral looks in their gazes, and I did not want to be introduced to their sharp claws.

I tear up the ground as I speed after Cove, who is only a tail-length away. "There's a tree!" I warn. I can almost see Cove's mind spinning as he quickly scrabbles over a fallen trunk. I follow as fast as I can, digging my claws into the bark.

To my surprise, Cove stops once he was standing flat on the tree base. "Cove!" I snap urgently at him. "What in StarClan do you think you're doing? They're going to rip our fur out!"

"I thought you belonged to a Clan, Glow. This is the border, can't you scent it?" Cove's reply shamed me as I scented the air. The familiar scent of the border wafted up my senses, painfully obvious even to a newborn kit.

"How do you know they'll stop?" I challenge him, eager to earn my pride back. The scarred tom merely grins at me and nods back to where we had come. Sure enough, the patrol had stopped, although they yowled warnings and bared their teeth.

"Good meeting you!" Cove calls out gleefully. "We'll see you around sometime, won't we?"

He leaps down the other side of the log, and I jump after him. My fur is still spiked and ruffled, and I shiver and flatten it quickly. "What is wrong with you?" I demand, trotting after him as fast as my short legs could allow.

He doesn't even seem to blink, only smiling at me cheerfully. "I was bored is all. Can you blame a cat for that?"

His tone is so cheerful and his grin is so contagious I can't help but return the gesture, offering a small smile and a sigh. "Don't do that again. Ever."

His laugh is clear throughout the forest. "I thought I'd drilled this into you now. I wouldn't dream of it, don't worry."

* * *

My breath fogs up the air. It's leaf-bare, and snow litters the ground. My paws are numb with cold and my nose is tingling like nothing I'd ever felt before, but at that moment I couldn't really care less. I'm leaning over Cove, who is curled up on a misshapen nest. His breath is shallow and uneven. His fur is ruffled and messy, and he looks _sick_.

I can't help the worry that prickles at me continuously. Ever stubborn, ever stupid, Cove had gotten into more and more bouts of trouble. He was reckless, risking his life and running into battles left and right. We had gotten into so much trouble, at times I had thought of just leaving, abandoning him and saving myself. But inside, I knew that I could never leave this irresponsible tom and his dangerous antics.

A recent battle with two toms had left him with a large gash in his body. I had plastered it with herbs and anything remedial I could think of earlier, but despair was starting to gnaw at me. I didn't think he could make it. A bush blooming with dark purple berries blooms beside me, shockingly bright against the blankness of the snow. I know that even the tiniest berry could kill Cove. End his misery. And I think about it, I really do.

It's as I'm padding towards the bush that the stupid ginger tom stirs, groaning in pain.

"Cove?" I scramble to his side, and check over him. He's weak, I can tell, but he's pretending to be brave.

"What... What happened?"

I shake off a feeling of doubt and answer his question. "You were being stupid again."

He chuckles, a weak, coarse laugh. "That's me."

It's silent for a long time. Comfortable silence, but still silence all the same. I busy myself with sorting herbs, and he busies himself with helping me, when I suddenly turn to him.

"Promise something."

He looks to me, and I know I've got his full attention. He nods for me to go onwards.

"Don't you ever leave me again."

And then he cracks another weak grin at me. "Wouldn't dream of it."

* * *

**AN: **

**So this is basically the first one-shot. This one popped into my mind a long time ago, actually. Little Glow and dangerous Cove actually have a bit of backstory to them. Glow and Cove weren't originally going to have a sort of romance, what with Cove already having Astrid and everything, but it kind of just turned out a little bit sappy. They do have a very.. drama filled future that you probably won't ever learn about. However, I may always do another one-shot on them, so keep an eye out. **

**If you enjoyed, that's all I wanted, so yeah! Tell me any suggestions, critque or anything. **

**Thanks, **

**- _A Light Streak Of Hail_**


	2. Relations

**CHAPTER TWO:**** Relations**

**Inspiration: ****_The Hunger Games_**

**Song: ****_Eyes Open; Taylor Swift_**

* * *

"Why is everyone so sad?" Aspenkit is so innocent it almost breaks his heart. "It's so sunny. Perfect for playing!"

The tiny black she-cat blinks up at him with wide blue eyes. Oakwing sweeps his tail back and forth, creating small puffs of dust that soon disappear with the wind. He is unsure of how to answer the young kitten. Could he tell her of how today people were going to be selected to die? Unfortunately, he is afraid the answer is yes. Aspenkit has no parents of her own to tell her, and so it was up to him.

"Aspenkit.." He starts off gently, crouching down so that he is at a similar eye level to her. "Do you know about the rogues? Those bad, bad cats that live in the darkest parts of the forest?" He sweeps his thin brown tail to the left, where the trees got thicker, the birds sang softer and the sunlight was barely there.

"Yes!" Aspenkit nods earnestly, kneading her tiny paws into the cracked dirt ground. It hasn't rained in a while, and the ground is dry and hard from days without the rain that kept life plentiful. "Fawncloud told me and Robinkit about them the other day." Her blue orbs grow wide and she lowers her voice slightly. "Are the stories true?"

It's a while before Oakwing can string up the words to respond, but he nods solemnly. As much as he doesn't want to shatter Aspenkit's happy aspect on everything, he wants her to know that what he's saying is not a game. "Yes, Aspenkit. The stories are true." He debates inwardly on how to go about telling her, but an idea soon slips into his mind. He settles himself down comfortably. "Do you want me to tell you a story, Aspenkit? A new one?"

Aspenkit brightens immediately, her ears prick and she promptly sits herself down on the ground. "Yes please!" She cheers eagerly. "I love stories."

"I know you do, Aspenkit," he says softly, but all the same he can't help but smile. The kitten reminds him so much of his dear, lost sister. It's all he can do to force down the snarl at the thought of her death. Ferntail had been the sweetest, most caring littermate a cat could ever ask for. And then the rogues had come along. Selected her for their little _game. _They told him she had been one of the last to die. That she had been a worthy contender. But that only made it worse. Because she had just been that little bit closer to living. Just that little bit.

"The story starts with a group of rogues," Oakwing begins, wrapping his tail closer to himself. "Some of the most important rogues in the operation. They had just obliterated the Clans."

"What does oblit.. mean?" Aspenkit interrupts, blinking curiously. Her icy blue eyes sparkle with the all too familiar thirst for knowledge. Oakwing knows it well. He saw it in his sister. He sees it in himself when he peers into a puddle. It runs in the family.

"Obliterated? It means... destroyed. Taken over. Gotten rid of." He's not entirely sure if he made it clear enough, but Aspenkit only wills him on, so he continues. The she-cat was a smart one, in any case. "They were just relaxing. Eating fresh-kill caught for them by honorable warriors. They were discussing what to do next."

"How do you know they were doing that?" Aspenkit juts in, and Oakwing takes a moment to think. She had a valid point.

"I don't know. Maybe there was a spy who saw all of this happen. Maybe they told us. Maybe this part of the story was created by someone smart. Either way, it doesn't matter too much. So these cats were talking. And one of them, the leader, spoke. He was an average sized cat, with creamy white fur and the scariest blue eyes you would ever see. He was blind in his right eye and deaf in his left. And he said, 'My fellow helpers. I thank you all for helping me win this war. But our lovely cats have been complaining. They are a blood-thirsty lot. They want action, entertainment. Soon, I fear that if we do not have anything to quench their needs, they will turn on each other, and our ranks will be no more.' The other cats began to mutter and talk."

"What is the leader's name?"

"Be patient, little one," Oakwing chides gently. "We are getting to that part of the story."

"Sorry Oakwing," she chirps.

"And then a pretty calico she-cat offered her services. She said, 'Dearest leader, I have an idea for you. In fact, I have been thinking for a long time. The cats want action, they want gore? Then so be it. We pit them against each other, two from each Clan. A she-cat and a tom. We place them in a small section, with cats able to watch from all sides. The last one alive wins.' And then the leader smiled. And he meowed, 'Your idea is splendid, Lacy. We will announce this immediately. We start next moon!'"

"Oakwing," Aspenkit's voice sounded very small. "This story's scaring me."

"I never said it would be a happy story. I said it would be a true one," he meows, but gives her a comforting lick on the head anyway. "And a tom cut in, and he said, 'Cats could throw in herbs and food and such for the cats they want to live; for a price, of course. What do you think, Sage?' And Sage, the leader-"

"So that's his name!"

"-said, 'The idea is successful!' And from that day, the Pitting was born."

"The... Pitting?" Aspenkit looks bewildered, and a bit scared. She shudders lightly and stretches out her paw to examine it curiously. "And it's.. real?"

"Yes," Oakwing murmurs gravely. He hates to see Aspenkit frightened, but it was best that she learnt it from him, and no one else. "It happens every six moons. And today was six moons from the last one."

Aspenkit's eyes widen, and she seems to be staring off into the distance. "Do they pick cats randomly?" At Oakwing's nod, she took deep breaths, in and out. "What about me?"

For once, Oakwing is ever so grateful for what he's about to say next. "You're too young still. You can only be selected once you're a warrior."

Realisation seems to dawn on Aspenkit, and she looks up at him with a frightened expression that looks so much like her mother's. "So you can be chosen."

"Yes," Oakwing slides a mask of braveness onto his face. He refuses to break down in front of his kin. Refuses. "But it'll be fine. Do you want to get something to eat?" He hopes brushing it aside casually will help ease the little one's mind, but apparently that isn't so.

"Mama.." Aspenkit meows slowly, looking scared of Oakwing's answer. "Mama was picked, wasn't she?"

Oakwing winces slightly, but it's gone in a split second. Aspenkit had finally figured it out. He had dreaded this moment. "Yes.." He says slowly, painfully. "She was picked. When you were very, very young."

"Tell me about her!" Aspenkit insists abruptly, and Oakwing can't refuse, as much as it hurts him.

"Well.." There are so many things to say, yet it's hard to say them, actually utter the words. "Her name was Ferntail. She looked like you, brown furred with a black patched mask on her muzzle and around her eyes. She had green eyes, and she was the sweetest cat ever. She loved you, Aspenkit. She named you after our mother, the bravest she-cat ever. Her name was Aspenpool."

"What else?" Aspenkit asks softly, seemingly aware of how hard it was for him. Oakwing opens his mouth, but a bunch of cats appear from the deep dark forest, and Oakwing knows it's time.

"I'll tell you the rest of the story later, okay?" He promises quietly. "Go back to Fawncloud and stay tucked up in the nursery." He watches as Aspenkit trudges away reluctantly, her tiny body disappearing into the nursery with a quick glance back. Oakwing pads to the Gathering Stone with everyone else, and he fixes his gaze on the four very pleased looking cats perched up on the stone.

A pale grey she-cat, a darker grey tom, a black tom and a patched tabby tom. The she-cat steps forward, obviously in charge of the situation. "Hello there!" Her voice is creepily smooth and cheery, and although it sounds exactly as if someone had greeted good-morning, Oakwing can't help but shiver at the small tingles that crawl up his back. "I am Tress, and these lovely toms here are Lops, Drone and Tone. We're here for our Pitting members."

The crowd collectively tenses, and Oakwing is with them. He can tell that everyone is praying to the stars that they aren't picked. "We're going to make this short and sweet, so we'd like to announce our warriors, Leafstream and Oakwing!"

Oakwing swears that his heart stops as his name rings through the clearing. He holds his head up high and marches forward to the front. Cats part for him, and he sees many sympathetic faces. Oakwing ignores them. He will act brave, strong, and he won't go down without a fight. However, all this nearly crumbles to dust and ashes when a kitten stumbles out from the nursery. Aspenkit.

"No! You can't take him!" Someone attempts to shush her, and she is hurried inside the nursery. "Oakwing! You promised you would finish telling me about her!"

He wants to tell Aspenkit that he is sorry, but before he can, she's whisked away. Beside him, Tress twitches her whiskers in amusement, something that makes Oakwing broil on the inside with rage. However, he keeps his expressions emotionless, a skill he had learnt ever since Ferntail's death.

"The little scrap is scared," one of the toms simper mockingly, earning a laugh from the others. "Oh, no."

Tress rolls her eyes and promptly bids goodbye to the Clan. "See you! If you want these losers to win, you'd better start saving up for some gifts!" She cackles gleefully, and then him and Leafstream are both herded away from their homes, away from their friends and family, for the last time.

* * *

"Sometimes I wonder why they chose us," Leafstream comments quietly. They're alone, or as alone you can be with two guards posted outside. Leafstream is a quiet she-cat, Oakwing figured out. Entirely normal, entirely forgettable. But maybe that would work out in her favour.

"Yeah," he responds, but he knows full well why he was chosen. For some sort of joke, he knew. First was his great grandfather who had been selected. Then, his grandmother. Then his mother, and then him. It was because of his blood that he had been picked. His relations. Although he wished and hoped and dreaded, he knew with a pang in his heart that one day, it would be Aspenkit's turn.

Leafstream looks desperate, scared and lonely, and Oakwing feels slightly bad. But he can't pluck up the courage to comfort her. "The competition.. They look tough this year, don't you think?"

"Yeah," Oakwing repeats once again. Simple and curt. But that basically describes his whole being.

"You don't talk much, do you?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"There's nothing to talk about anymore." And that promptly ends their one and only conversation.

* * *

The pit is a large, shallow hollow. It's a circle that's dug down, a bowl pit. It's sandy, and the edges are adorned with thorns, to stop people from scrabbling out and escaping. Clusters of cats gather to watch, and already are clamouring for the show to starts.

Someone shoves him, but Oakwing doesn't react. He only steels himself for the event that's about to start. Someone yowls for silence, and immediately the clearing obeys.

"Welcome to the Pitting! I trust you have all pawed in the required fresh-kill! Now, let's start, shall we! Send them into the Pit!"

Someone roughly shoves Oakwing in, and he winces at the thorns that scrape and tug at his long fur. He's finally able to see his opponents. There's Leafstream, tucked into a corner and looking scared.

There's a strong, tall silver tom who looks undoubtedly like the winner. A small raven-black she-cat with steely eyes. A wiry white tom who looks to be deaf. There's a tiny green eyed tom who looked barely out of apprenticeship. A cocky ginger she-cat and a shy looking pretty striped she.

Oakwing paws the sand, getting stuff sprinkled in his fur. He tries to adjust to it, but it feels so strange, and hard to move around in. He thinks he'd feel more comfortable if the ground was soft springy earth, like back home.

"Now, let's introduce the competitors, and give them their gifts!" The voice announced again, a deep, cheery tom who Oakwing can't find the source of.

The silver tom gets six. The black cat four, the deaf tom none, the green eyed three. The ginger gets five, and the striped three. He doesn't pay attention to their names. He doesn't want to know the name of his murderer. Leafstream receives two, and Oakwing is fully expecting none at all, so it's a surprise when something small slides down the pit and at his paws.

"And Oakwing receives a gift from his Clan! How sweet!"

Seeing the herbs, something softens Oakwing's heart. He sees travelling herbs, something used to keep hunger at bay and keep cats energised. Perfect for the Pitting. He knows that it must've cost the Clan a lot of fresh-kill to worm this in, and he has a sneaking suspicion that Aspenkit had something to do with it.

He gulps it down quickly, and just in time, for mysterious cat yells, "Now, _fight!" _

Immediately the pit is thrown into chaos. Oakwing tries to back away and appear non-threatning, but apparently it doesn't work, as the ginger she-cat throws herself at him.

He dodges, but her claws rake against his side and he feels the pain travel down his flank. The herbs kick in quickly, and soon he's dodging and fighting like's he's never done before. Still, the she-cat's so much better, and he's soon covered in scratches and bruises.

He lunges forward, feinting to the side before aiming his teeth at her paw. Before he can do it though, the ginger she-cat flips him down, and he thuds to the floor with a groan.

"Make it quick," he rasps, and the last thing he saw before death was the flash of glinting claws closing in on him.

* * *

Aspenheart couldn't help but purr at the little bundles of joy - her little bundles of joy, that leapt around happily. In her eyes, they were perfect. Little Fernkit, with whitish grey fur and black patches, and Oak-kit, who was a pure brown with his father's green eyes.

Oakwing. She still remembers her kindly kin from when she was a kitten. And then _they _- she dug her paws into the ground - killed him. She would never see him again. "What's got your tail in a twist?" Came a cheerful meow, and Aspenheart whirls around to see her her mate purring at her.

"Flamestripe," she greets happily, flicking her bushy tail. "Back from hunting already?"

"We get to come back earlier today, remember?" Flamestripe reminds, and Aspenheart's mood dampens slightly. How had she forgotten? Today would be when she found out if her assumptions were true. Today was the drawing of the contestants for the Pitting.

"Of course," she murmurs softly, pressing herself closer to him, drawing comfort from his warmth. "Good luck."

"You too. The stars would not be so cruel as to send both of us in, though." Aspenheart winces at his words and drew away quickly. She did not respond.

"Father!" Fernkit and Oak-kit bound over happily, their eyes glinting with happiness, and their tails lifted high up in the air. Aspenheart remembered when she had been so naive, and again she felt a pang for Oakwing.

"Hey Fernkit, hey Oak-kit!" Flamestripe purrs, crouching down low. Aspenheart watches as the three begin to play-fight, growling and tossing around gently. The kits are the apple of Flamestripe's eye, Aspenheart knows. He would do anything for them. And her heart aches as she finally realises what she must do.

She waits for a little while, she waits until the kittens are asleep for their nap. And then she approaches Flamestripe, her paws tingling and her heart heavy.

"Flamestripe. I want you to do something for me. A big favour." It's hard to choke the words out, but she knows she must. If she's correct - and she's rarely ever wrong - then it's the best thing for them to do.

"Anything," the ginger tom promises, and Aspenheart feels a surge of affection for him.

"When the drawing is going," she starts off quickly, before she can back down and shy away. "I need you to take the kits. Sneak away. Quickly, and quietly."

Flamestripe looks utterly shocked. It's a while before he responds, shaking his head and blinking his green eyes rapidly. "And you?"

"I'm not coming," she says firmly.

"But I can't leave you here! What will the kits say?" Flamestripe protests, sounding broken. "What will I do without you?"

"I must stay. I'm going to be drawn today. I'll be going to the Pitting." As soon as she utters it, she knows it's true, without a second doubt.

"You can't say that. How do you know?"

Aspenheart breathes deeply. In, out, in, out. "I've figured it out. I know I'm right." She's always been labeled as a smart one, and she is one to live up to her name. "My mother was sent to the Pittings. My uncle. My grandmother, I'm sure. Who knows who else? There's a pattern, Flamestripe. It's all in the blood. The relations. If you don't go, one day they're going to send the kittens in. Both of them. They'll wait until they have children of their own. The cycle just keeps going. Notice how I have no living relatives?"

It takes a long time for it to sink in for Flamestripe. He shakes his head repeatedly, and for a moment Aspenheart is scared he's going to refuse. "I know you don't lie, Aspenheart. I believe you. But can't you come with us? Escape?"

"No," she shakes her head in return. "I'll buy you some time. If I disappear, they'll search for me. By the time they realise you're missing, you'll be long gone. I'll provide a distraction."

"But-"

Aspenheart looks up to meet him directly in the eye. "And I have scores to settle. Please, Flamestripe."

Flamestripe looks as pained as Aspenheart felt, but he nodded jerkily. "Okay. Okay, I will."

* * *

"Aspenheart and Blazefoot."

Her fears are confirmed. She was right. Unfortunately, Aspenheart always was. She padded forward, her footsteps feeling unbearably heavy. Someone wails Blazefoot's name. He looks distressed, but gives her a respectful nod.

As the rogue cats usher her out, she holds her head up high and marches forward purposefully. She will be brave. She will be strong.

Out of the corner of her keen eye, she sees three shadowy figures slip away into the forest. And she smiles.

* * *

**AN: **

**So does Aspenheart survive and join her mate? Or does she die happily in the Pitting knowing her family is safe? It's a bittersweet ending, I must say. This one's a bit sadder, but I really quite liked it, so here you go! **

**Yes, the Pitting is based off the Hunger Games. It's what I think cats could be capable of coming up with. **

**Reviews -**

**Wilhem Wigworthy - Thank you very much for reviewing! **


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